


How Not to Paint

by peachyysweetz



Category: Inanimate Insanity (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Aftercare, Amputation, Bittersweet, Blood, Caretaking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fingering, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Graphic Description, Guro, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Near Death, Other, Penetration, Rape/Non-con Elements, Seriously don't read if your under 18 or uncomfortable with these subjects, Snuff, Somnophilia, Unconscious Sex, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyysweetz/pseuds/peachyysweetz
Summary: Knife finds himself unable to resist the urge to do horrible things to his friends. Paintbrush wants this to end, to be able to walk, to go outside, to see Lightbulb again. Knife needs to do everything in his effort to make sure they won't leave him.
Relationships: Paintbrush/Knife (Inanimate Insanity)
Kudos: 15





	1. Beating the Devil Out of It

**Author's Note:**

> I want to admit that before writing this, I have never watched a single episode of inanimate insanity and completely missed out on some horrid shit Knife did like burning marshmallow to death

Knife _tried_ to be a better person for his fellow teammates.

He had a change of heart in season two. Instead of bullying everyone that comes into his peripheral vision, he decided to use his violent tendencies for his team’s advantage. Still, it wasn’t enough to quell the intrusive thoughts that came into his mind. He pushed them away and tried to ignore it, but over the years, they got worse. Some things that intruded his mind sickened him. Even in season 1, when he was an obnoxious jerk, he at least let the objects he tormented have the sweet release of death. He never had a deep desire to _slowly torture_ them. He hated himself for feeling pleasure over these thoughts. Something about them just seemed so appealing; to see someone at his mercy, begging for their life. He was in complete control, and they couldn’t do anything about it but cry and wait for it to all be over.

Knife struggled to fight back the urge when Paintbrush sat on the couch right next to him, too distracted by the game they played together. Knife repeated to himself, _Paintbrush’s bristles can burst into flames, Lightbulb would be devastated if she found their mangled body, none of your teammates would ever trust you, you can go to_ **_prison._ **

His fingers twitched on the controller as his breathing became more heavy, his heart pounding while he clenched and released a fist with his free hand. Paintbrush must have noticed, Knife felt a hand on his shoulder and someone saying something that his brain didn’t quite register while being so lost in thought. Paintbrush didn’t see what was coming when Knife’s fist swung in their face, sending them to the floor while Knife stood up from the couch.

Paintbrush yelped, dazed for a moment before his anger caught up to him. “What the hell, Knife?! What was that for?!” Paintbrush shouted, a violet bruise forming on their left cheek. Knife felt so guilty, because seeing his friend like this… he wanted more. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Paintbrush.” He replied, wincing at what he was about to give into. The brush tried to stand up, but Knife delivered a swift kick to their side that knocked them down in an instant, accompanied by a crunch. Paintbrush tried to yell out, but they found themselves breathless. A hand flew to their side as a mark formed there, but could barely touch the area, much less breathe deeply.

“You’re fucking sick!” They wheezed, as they swung a leg to kick Knife away, missing. The sounds they made were more than enough to further motivate Knife’s morbid fantasy. His brain no longer tried to convince him not to do this, with every reason of why it was wrong, but gave him every reasoning of why Paintbrush deserved punishment.

“I invited you into my fucking house, offered you hospitality, and this is the thanks I get?!” Knife growled, before stomping on Paintbrush’s left shin with his entire body weight. The sheer strength was unlike anything Paintbrush had seen the metal object do in the past, snapping their leg. It took a moment for the adrenaline produced by their shock to fade, and their screams filled the room.

“Stop, please,” they whimpered, “I’ll do whatever you want, just please stop.”

A twisted grin developed on Knife’s face, seeing the tears form in Paintbrush’s eyes.

“Hah, what happened to your hot-head? Combust, if you really want me to stop.” Knife laughed, straddling Paintbrush’s waist.

Paintbrush only sobbed, unable to ignite their bristles into flames. Yeah, they were angry at Knife, but the amount of pain inflicted onto them hindered their ability to properly defend themselves. Knife huffed.

“Stop FUCKing crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Knife yelled, holding Paintbrush’s head up by the bristles before punching them in the mouth. Paintbrush stopped crying, their head fell back and their mouth pursed shut. Then, a tooth projected outwards. They were smarter than Knife initially thought, because Paintbrush deliberately aimed to spit their tooth in his eye. Knife flinched, and shouted as the bone came in contact with his most sensitive sensory organ, pressing a palm to his eye.

“GAH! God damn it!” Knife growled.

Paintbrush tried to take this as an opportunity to clock Knife in the face, but his reflexes were quick, pinning Paintbrush completely onto the floor.

“You think you’re so fucking clever? Huh? Is that what it is?” Knife questioned.

“Fuck you.” Paintbrush breathed.

Big mistake. Knife’s blade came into contact with their right eye, and their vision went black on that side. As they felt Knife pull out, they saw something stringy come along with his blade, and immediately felt sick. Paintbrush gagged, and Knife forced their head to face the other way as they emptied the contents of their stomach. Paintbrush dry heaved a few times, hyperventilating as the burning pain and realization hit that they would never see out of their right eye again. Knife threw them onto their back when he saw they were done throwing up, grabbing their chin in one hand.

“Now why did you have to go do that?” Knife asked.

Bloody tears streamed down Paintbrush’s face as they tried to get the words out, to beg for no more, only able to make slurred mumblings while they struggled against Knife’s grip.

“Shhh,” Knife hushed, “you’ll only make your punishment worse if you keep doing stuff like that.”

Knife’s fingers trailed from Paintbrush’s chin and neck, down to their right arm. He grabbed their wrist and raised up their hand, wiggling a finger around on its joint before snapping it backwards. Paintbrush cried out in agony while Knife did the same with the next finger, causing Paintbrush to expel another pained outcry. Knife bit his lip, loving their screams.

“What do you even need this many fingers for, anyways?” Knife asked as he lowered his head again.

“No- NO! Please, don’t!!” Paintbrush pleaded.

Their words fell on deaf ears as a squelch and crunch came, along with a spurt of blood releasing from where their ring finger used to be. Paintbrush screamed, their face contorted and body writhing.

“Oh shut up. It doesn’t hurt _that_ bad.” Knife said as he chopped off Paintbrush’s pinky, receiving another pleasant scream.

Paintbrush cried “no,” over and over again, kicking their good leg and using their free arm to try and push Knife off. Knife took the opportunity to duck his head down, slicing deeply up Paintbrush’s forearm before pushing Paintbrush back and began slowly sawing off their upper arm. Paintbrush kicked and howled in pain, hearing their flesh squelch, feeling the rip of tendons and veins before Knife dug into their bone. The bone crunched slowly, and Paintbrush wondered how much longer this would go on until they passed out, or died. They wished Knife would just kill them already, to end this agony. Knife stopped when the bone was completely sawed through, but didn’t saw at the remaining flesh. Instead, he began to pull, digging his other hand into Paintbrush’s exposed flesh. He watched in delight as Paintbrush’s eye widened while they shrieked. He pulled as slow as he possibly could until the remaining muscle and skin finally tore away, and the arm was no longer. Paintbrush sobbed as they faced away from the arm, trying to bury their face in the carpet.

“Please… stop…” They weakly cried.

“God, that’s so beautiful. You look so fucking gorgeous when you cry like this.” Knife muttered, feeling his slit materialize in which a cobalt tentacle peeked out.

Paintbrush could only look in horror as Knife turned to their good leg, rubbing their upper thigh, stalling. Making Paintbrush wait for it in suspense before slicing the leg off. Paintbrush screamed, but not as intensely since the pain was already so bad all over, that any more physical pain inflicted onto them wouldn’t make much more of a difference. Knife wasn’t pleased. So, as a suitable punishment, he was going to make sure Paintbrush wouldn’t be able to walk again. He cut off their big toe, the most detrimental limb for balancing on one’s foot. He saw that he accidentally cut halfway through a second toe on their foot, so like the arm, he ripped it off. Paintbrush covered their face with their arm, curling in on themselves for comfort. Knife got up, and walked behind them, sitting them into his lap. Paintbrush hiccuped and wept.

“Are you done yet?” They uttered through tears.

Knife smirked and lightly chuckled. “Not even close.” He replied, rubbing his tentacle along their back as his blood-covered hands reached down to Paintbrush’s hole, stroking it gently. The inside became more soft rather than it’s hard, wooden default. Their energy to fight back was completely drained from the pain and blood loss that they just let Knife do his thing, praying he would cum quickly so it could all be over soon. Knife slipped a finger in, stimulating their insides. Paintbrush couldn’t help but let out a quiet moan, squirming as Knife slowly moved his finger in and out.

“I knew you’d like that. Look, you’re leaking. Do you even know how wet you are?” Knife cooed.

Paintbrush could barely pay attention, feeling their head lolling onto his shoulder as they lost more blood. Knife could feel them passing out and wasted no time replacing his fingers with his dick, thrusting roughly into Paintbrush’s tight hole. Paintbrush yelped and their eyes widened, body going rigid for a moment before they began to pass out again. Knife grunted and began to move, fucking Paintbrush’s handle hole before they went completely unconscious. Knife huffed and threw their body onto the floor, holding them up by the waist while he railed them on his knees. He moaned as his tentacle curled around their handle, searching for something deeper to stimulate itself on. He grabbed the part of his dick that Paintbrush’s hole couldn’t cover, pumping himself. Knife felt the pressure begin to build up, channeling through his cock, and before long, he felt himself spilling out into his hand and onto the floor. He burrowed deeply into Paintbrush as he came, panting while he came down from climax.

Knife removed himself from Paintbrush, flipped them over and lied down next to their body on the floor. He deeply kissed them, stroking their face.

At least now, he got that out of his system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Object sexcannon: Genitalia materializes when the object is aroused, or someone rubs the area where their sexual organs are. Most objects with dicks have a sheath in which either you can fuck, or a tentacle will slither out. Most objects have pussydicks.


	2. Mystery Meat and Crappy Reality Shows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paintbrush wakes up.

Knife had to work fast if he didn’t want Paintbrush to die. The initial shock when his senses came back to him threw him into a frenzy, frantically trying to search how surgeons treat amputated limbs while simultaneously performing at-home surgery. He couldn’t take them to the hospital, or else they’ll turn him in. He used some flesh from Paintbrush’s dismembered limbs to create round nubs on their limbs, so they could comfortably put their weight on them when they healed. He used towels to stop the bleeding while he worked, staining every towel he had in the house plus a blanket he had on the couch. Hours later, after he finished sewing Paintbrush up, and was certain that they stopped bleeding, Knife washed his hands, transported Paintbrush onto the bed, removing the sheets beforehand so he wouldn’t have to clean those later. He was already tired, but still had so much work to do. Knife put the towels in the washing machine, showered, and dried himself off with a bedsheet. Then, he made a trip to the grocery store to get gauze, bandages, disinfectant, finger splints, a leg brace, a large bottle of painkillers and melatonin.

The cashier looked at the materials dubiously. “What happened?” They questioned.

“My roommate fell out of the second story of our building.” Knife lied.

“How’d they do that?” Damn it, this cashier was one of those talkative types.

“They were trying to climb out the window.” Knife tried his best to maintain a calm exterior, even though the more he was questioned. He glanced to the total on the screen before shakily fishing out a few twenties from his wallet.

“Why?”

“No clue, that’s what I want to know.” Knife replied quickly before slamming the cash down, grabbing his things and speed-walking out of the grocery store.

Fuck, fuck fuck- Knife gripped his fist, digging his nails into his palm while he made his way home. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he needed to remain calm. If anyone saw him acting suspiciously, and found out about Paintbrush, he’d be in trouble for sure.

He entered his home, setting the bag down. He moved the towels from the washing machine to the dryer, grabbed a dish rag and went back to Paintbrush’s barely alive body. Their bloody body soaked into the mattress, and Knife wasn’t completely sure if they actually stopped bleeding or not. Well, one way to find out.

Moving Paintbrush back into the bathroom, Knife ran the tap and began wiping away at the blood with a wet rag. As he did, he noticed just how cold Paintbrush’s body felt. He pressed his fingers into their neck and… oh. They’re alive. That’s good. Perfect. He took his time cleaning Paintbrush, making sure he really got everything off. Then, he retrieved a clean towel from the dryer and dried them before dabbing disinfectant on their stitches and wrapping their wounds in gauze. He put their broken limbs in the splints, and took them back to the bedroom, cocooning them in the bedsheets.

Now, all he had left to do was clean the house and wait for them to wake up.

* * *

They felt so cold.

They didn’t know what they were doing, or where they were, but the first thing they noticed was how cold, and tingly they felt, similarly to the feeling of a leg falling asleep. Speaking of legs, slowly, but gradually, they felt the searing ache in both of their legs, their arms, their mouth, ribs, eyes, face; everything  _ hurt _ . Paintbrush tried to inhale to cry out, but found themself unable to breathe deeply without experiencing a sharp pain in their side. They were able to get a tormented moan out, cringing while they woke up completely. Their eye fluttered open to inspect their surroundings, and recognized they were still in Knife’s house. Then, they remembered, and wanted to scream, but couldn’t catch their breath to do so. They looked around fearfully, unable to do so much as wiggle their fingers to see if they were still there underneath all the blankets that failed to keep them warm. Knife wasn’t in the room, which made Paintbrush feel a thousand times safer, but the absence of Knife wasn’t like they could perform a daring escape and inform the police about what he did to them. They were still crippled and incapable of even breathing properly. Paintbrush pivoted their left shoulder. It was sore, but they still felt that arm was intact, although very tingly from the amount of blood they lost. Moving their arm out of the blanket cocoon, they moved the sheets aside to the best of their ability, being unable to grab anything due to all their remaining fingers being broken. They saw the leg brace that served as a makeshift cast, along with the nub wrapped in bandages that was once their leg. They felt a sob coming on as they gazed at their disfigured form, their life wrongfully ruined at the hands of someone they thought was their friend.

The door suddenly opening snapped them out of their self-pity, causing them to flinch. Knife peered from behind the doorway, staring at them for a second before entering the room.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Knife said, “you’ve been asleep for so long, I thought you died.”

Paintbrush didn’t respond. They didn’t even want to acknowledge him. Knife approached the bed, moving the blanket aside completely.

“I didn’t do too shabby, huh? It’s a bit rushed, but I had to make sure you didn’t die on me.” Knife commented.

_ Being dead, would be way better than this. _ Paintbrush wanted to say, but kept their mouth shut. It might set off Knife again. They simply averted their eyes away from his smug, self-accomplished face. Knife’s face fell as he moved the blanket back.

“I bet you’re hungry. You’ve been asleep a few hours over an entire day.” Knife said, and left the room. When he returned, he had a bowl of something that looked like curdled beef stew. There was no way Paintbrush was letting that enter their system. It looked like prison food, with the meat all greyed and the over-saltiness of the gravy emitting from it. Knife slowly moved them to a half-sitting position, sat on the edge of the bed, and brought the spoon to their mouth. They didn’t budge.

“Come on, Painty. It’ll help you regain blood and heal faster.” Knife pried.

Still, Paintbrush wasn’t having any of it. Knife sighed and put the bowl aside, and pressed his thumb into their bandaged eye socket, causing them to scream. He took the chance to force the spoon into their mouth, covering it afterwards so they couldn’t spit out. Paintbrush was just about to, but came to realize what they were fed was actually not half bad. It didn’t lift their spirits at all, and sure as hell didn’t excuse Knife from being an insufferable piece of garbage, but it wasn’t atrocious. Yeah, the texture kind of set them off, with the weird gelatinous chunks alongside the odd tenderness of the meat. It was indeed beef-tasting, but a bit sweeter and softer than how they’d imagine chunks of beef to be. The stew itself was well-seasoned too, and not bland-tasting like it’s greyish appearance. Knife waited until they swallowed, before giving them another spoonful.

“Sorry for hurting your eye again, I don’t want you to starve yourself or get sick.” Knife apologized.

Paintbrush pondered for a moment, hesitating to ask. They tried to open their mouth to ask a question, but was only met with the spoon re-entering their mouth. They pushed Knife’s hand away so they could speak.

“What is this.” They rasped.

Knife paused. “What do you mean?”

“What is this,” they repeated, “there’s something… wrong with this meat. I can’t exactly place why, but it’s just… off.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, “I just suck at cooking.”

Knife was more rough with feeding them after that, possibly holding back on more physical abuse. Paintbrush was certain of it. He’d just  _ love _ to see them cry even more, constantly on death’s doorstep. They wondered what happened to Knife, or if Knife always wanted to do this to someone all along. When they finally finished, Knife put the bowl away in the sink, and got them a juice box with some pills.

“Here.” He said, holding them up to their face.

“What is this.” Inquired Paintbrush.

“Painkillers.”

They doubted those were anything else, but when someone who wasn’t afraid of fucking you after dismembering you was in control of whether you die or not, there was no arguing. Paintbrush took the pills with juice, just to get it over with already. Knife moved them back to a laying down position, ensuring they were completely tucked in. Then, he grabbed a nearby laptop and sat on the other side of the bed.

“Wanna watch Netflix?” He offered.

“I guess…” it wasn’t like they had much else to do.

“You pick something.” Knife replied.

“Um.” Paintbrush gave Knife a quizzical look, as though they were reminding him they couldn’t use their hand.

Knife blinked before he caught on. “Oh, I meant like you tell me what you want to watch, and I’ll navigate for you.” He clarified.

Paintbrush actually didn’t know what they wanted to watch. They wanted to leave, if anything, but Knife probably wouldn’t let them have that.

“Desperate Housewives, I don’t know.” They said.

“That’s on Hulu… which I unfortunately don’t have. Buuuut there’s Married at First Sight which is kinda similar.” Knife responded.

“Yeah. Sure.” Paintbrush really didn’t care.

They watched the show together for hours, Knife refusing to leave Paintbrush alone and unattended while they were conscious. He could hear their shallow breathing, not taking deep enough inhales.

“You know you’re going to get pneumonia if you keep breathing like that.” Knife nagged.

Paintbrush wanted to punch Knife in his stupid little face. “It hurts.” They growled quietly.

“It won’t last forever. I can give you two more painkillers, but that’s all I can do.” Knife replied.

Paintbrush was quiet, but Knife got them some more painkillers anyways, this time with a third, smaller pill.

“I got you some melatonin too so you can fall asleep easier.” Knife said as he fed the pills into Paintbrush’s mouth, and went back to his spot on the bed to watch the reality series.

It wasn’t long until Paintbrush nodded off, breathing more naturally now that they weren’t conscious to feel the pain in their ribs. Knife didn’t notice it until he completed the season, then realized just how late it was. He closed the laptop and set it on the accent table beside the bed, curling up underneath the covers, facing Paintbrush. He gazed upon their sleeping face in the darkness, much more peaceful compared to their gloomy expression earlier. He brushed their bristles away from their face, stroking a hand along their cheek.

“Sweet dreams.” He said to their sleeping form before closing his eyes, drifting off to dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing characters in pitiful situations :)


	3. Fucked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paintbrush can't stop fucking up.

“It’s time to change your bandages.” Said Knife, uncovering a half-awake Paintbrush who didn’t even have a chance to process what was going on yet.

They groaned as their eyes blinked open, squinting in the late morning light.

“What time is it…?” They asked.

“Almost twelve. Your blood is probably still really low, so that’s why you’ve been sleeping so much.” Knife replied, undoing the bandages on their arm nub, causing them to wince.

He tossed the bloodied bandages aside, and dabbed peroxide to clean their stitches. Paintbrush winced at the sting, but didn’t have much of a choice whether or not to let Knife mend their wounds. Knife glanced to Paintbrush’s pained expression, biting his lip subtly. The art utensil could tell something was amiss about the current situation when Knife let out a slow exhale, the light in his eyes glazed over as if something overcame him. A thumb pressed into Paintbrush’s nub, causing them to throw their head back and howl in pain. Knife smirked and let out a quiet chuckle.

“Oh man, I’m going to have so much  _ fun _ with that…” he purred.

Paintbrush sobbed. “Fucking kill me already...”

Knife got on top of Paintbrush, his legs on either side of their body. He pressed a finger to their lips and shushed them.

“I love you, Painty. I could have done this to literally anyone else, but I chose you because I loved you so much.” Knife spoke, lowering his pelvis into Paintbrush’s, rubbing his slit against their body.

Paintbrush shook their head. “No. Nope. We’re not doing this again.” They replied, reaching out to push Knife off of them, but the blade swat their hand back down and delivered a swift strike to their face. Their head fell back onto the pillow, the slap stunning them for a few seconds while Knife got more rough with them, grinding his slit on their hole, digging his nails into their pelvis. 

“Someone’s going to find you.” Paintbrush said.

“No they won’t.” Knife responded.

“They will, they’ll find out what you did to me.”

“Shut up.”

“They’ll lock you up, and your inmates will figure out what you did.”

“ _ Shut up.” _

“They’ll cut your legs off and hang you by your nubs, and fuck your face while you bleed to dea-”

Knife swung his fist.

“I said  **shut the fuck up** you whiny little bitch!!” Knife roared, moving up to straddle Paintbrush’s face.

Tears fell from Paintbrush’s face as a new bruise formed on the side of their face. Knife kissed their cheek, licking at a tear before letting his dick out, appendage flopping wetly on their face. Paintbrush didn’t want to acknowledge it, pretending that it wasn’t even there. Knife pulled Paintbrush by their bristles, causing them to yell. As soon as they opened their mouth, Knife forced his dick in.

“If you bite me, I’ll make sure every single little tooth in that pretty mouth of yours gets knocked out.” He growled as he slowly moved in and out of Paintbrush.

Paintbrush gagged, trying to keep themselves from vomiting on Knife’s cock, but they couldn’t help it when he was hitting their gag reflex. Knife moaned, moving deeper down their throat. If he had an external ballsack, he’d definitely be slapping them against Paintbrush’s chin. Suddenly, Knife stopped, keeping his cock buried deep in Paintbrush’s throat.

“Come on, hun. I’m not gonna do all the work here.” said Knife.

Paintbrush assumed he wanted them to move, so they did just that. It wasn’t easy to bob their head when they were lying down and Knife’s body was on top on them, but it was enough to make Knife fuck their face, grabbing the pillow below them, and going all at it, moaning and grunting over them like an animal in heat.

“Ahh, fuck yeah, you little bitch. This’ll shut you up.” He breathed, thrusting feverishly.

It took all of Paintbrush’s strength to not throw up, fearing they would either choke or get severely punished. They breathed roughly through their nose, using their tongue to circle Knife’s tentacle. Knife slapped Paintbrush, causing them to choke for a few seconds.

“Moan for me, bitch. Fucking moan like the pathetic god damn baby bitch you are. You deserve this. You  **fucking** deserve this.” Knife rumbled lowly.

Paintbrush’s mewls and cries vibrated through Knife’s cock, causing the object to groan and thrust faster. Knife could feel himself about to climax, just a few more thrusts and his seed flowed down Paintbrush’s throat. He removed himself, the object beneath him coughing and gasping. They curled in on themselves for comfort while Knife stared down apathetically. Then, Knife grabbed them by the bristles and slapped their face, then he slapped it again, and again, and again. Any yells, apologies, or pleads to stop drifted through Knife like a high-frequency sound that he couldn’t hear.

“You think you’re fucking done? Huh? Is that what you think?!” Knife screamed in their face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I won’t do it again. Please, I’m sorry.” Paintbrush sobbed. 

“Oh fuck off.” Knife muttered, removing the eyepatch that covered their socket, aiming his dick for the hole that still had yet to fully heal. Paintbrush’s jaw dropped, the corners of their mouth pulling downwards in terror.

“No, no please don’t PLEASE, NOT THHHDHh!!!”   
Paintbrush shrieked as Knife buried himself into their skull, stretching and ripping their eyelids apart. 

“STOOOP! PLEASE STOP I’M SO SORRY!” Paintbrush wailed, almost incomprehensibly.

Knife didn’t seem to care. In fact, the pain and torture he inflicted onto them seemed to further motivate his lust. He didn’t even let them have the chance to warm up to him before he began mindlessly fucking their socket. Paintbrush screamed, trying to claw at Knife’s dick, but Knife held them down. Their eye was so tight, it almost hurt for Knife to fuck it, especially after he just climaxed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he grit his teeth, feeling how tightly the hole squeezed his member, even when it was bloodied and torn. The raw flesh bled with each thrust, lubricating Knife’s dick in crimson ichor.

It didn’t take long for Knife to cum, but it felt like hours to Paintbrush. The semen overflowed in Paintbrush’s socket, squirting out of the edges along with blood. Knife panted, keeping himself embedded in them for a while longer before moving, cringing at the sensitivity as he withdrew from Paintbrush.

“Fuhh… fuck, that was good…” He exhaled, falling back onto the bed.

The two lied there in silence. Paintbrush didn’t think they could move from the shock of being woundfucked in the eye. Knife didn’t think he could move either, until he heard a faint buzzing. It came from one of the drawers near the bedside, the one all the way on the bottom with a lock on it. He considered just letting it be, but the words Paintbrush threw at him earlier began to eat at him. He grabbed the key, unlocking the drawer and removing Paintbrush’s cracked phone from the drawer. An amused huff escaped his lips.

“Oh look,” Knife said, turning the screen to the limp utensil, “Lightbulb’s calling.”

Paintbrush utilized what strength they had left to snatch at the phone. Knife yanked it out of their grip.

“Just let her know you’re okay. You wouldn’t want her to worry.” he leaned in, “especially when authorities can’t find your remains in one place.”

Knife shoved the phone in Paintbrush’s face, which they took in a trembling hand, swiping the button to answer. Their voice wavered.

“Hey… Lightbulb.”

“Yeah, I’m fine… I just got busy the past few days.”   
“N-NO! I mean, now’s not a good time to come over-- I’m fine, really.”

“No Lightbulb, really, you don’t want to see me right now I…”

Paintbrush froze as the line dropped, as did their arm.

“... I fucked up, didn’t I…” They croaked.

Knife’s sadistic look was gone, replaced with a blank look and a subtle hint of fear. They stared back at them for a minute, letting the weight of the atmosphere sit in, before sharply inhaling.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and home safe before your guest arrives.” He said, patting their shoulder.

Lightbulb wasn’t going to like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Object sexcannon: Genitalia materializes when the object is aroused, or someone rubs the area where their sexual organs are. Most objects with dicks have a sheath in which either you can fuck, or a tentacle will slither out. Most objects have pussydicks.


End file.
